On Alda’s advice, I showered very thoroughly before entering the lagoon, but ignored the posted warning that I should somehow obtain a bathing cap because the water dries your hair. By the time we left, my hair felt like a wad of wet cotton balls. Even after a shampoo, I couldn’t get a comb through it. I couldn’t even run my fingers through it. When it dried, it collapsed flat against my scalp, creating a flattering German schoolboy effect.

I managed to yank it up into a ponytail the next day, and when I removed the rubber band that night, my hair just stayed exactly where it was, piled atop my head.

Three pointless hot-oil treatments later, I was beginning to think I might have to Sinead it. I felt greasy and scratchy and irritable. Bryan convinced me not to shave my head and this morning, three days later, it has finally begun to regain flexibility. Who knows what’s living in there by now.

My sister eloped this weekend, and a handful of us drove up to Lake Tahoe to celebrate with her and her new husband James. This is her several hours before she hit the craps tables.

Heather, Eden, and Melissa just left town, and I miss them.

Eden’s face, always seems more familiar than it should for the few times we’ve met. She looks and acts quite a bit like Ms. Champ. They both share that walking-painting quality. But today I came across pictures of Eden as a young ‘un and realized that she also looks related to me.

Heather had 24 hours here, so we stayed up until 4 a.m. pinky swearing, talking about boys, discussing new hairstyles, and getting drunk. Actually, only I got drunk, Heather just smirked at me. This is because Heather, who weighs fifteen pounds, could drink a team of seasoned Teamsters under the table and still remember to keep her knees together because she’s wearing a skirt.

Melissa is similarly evolved. She and I had a semi-serious conversation about whether it’s appropriate to teach your children how to moderate a buzz to spare them years of experimental suffering at the hands of bourbon. We decided no.

Sorry for the brief interruption of service, I was busy. Busy with pain. I thought it was food poisoning, but it turned out to have been some sort of virus. The sort of virus that makes you wonder, disinterestedly, whether your insides may have liquefied.

Still, because we had barbecued ribs and strawberry shortcake at our Fourth of July picnic, and I awoke at 1:30 a.m. to revisit a less-appetizing version of said meal, I’m currently feeling bitter toward those foodstuffs. I’m ignoring them for a while, say several years, until they’ve learned their lesson.

(You know what sounds good though? Weak herbal tea and saltines. Mmmmm hmmmm!)

Actually, despite being mostly immobile for the last two days, I awoke feeling pretty damn good. Fine, in fact. The contrast is so great that I feel like doing something incredibly productive. Painting the apartment! Lining up all of our shoes and shining them until they gleam! Showering!

There were hundreds of us. We were inebriated, dressed like Santas, and getting ready for a game of dodgeball on the green. Then the church bells started to ring.

All of us looked up. A new bride and her groom were making their way across the park. En masse, we stumbled toward her and her $3,000 gown.

“HO! HO! HO!,” we chanted menacingly. “HO!HO!HO!”

At least a year of planning, seven bridesmaids with seven updos, perfect lipstick, perfect nails, and hundreds of willful Santas. The photographer was giddy. The bride bared her teeth in a rough approximation of a smile; fear radiated from her eyes. We were not part of the plan.

She eventually realized we were harmless. You’ll find a photo of the happy couple amongst this batch. (She’s the one in white.) I also posted some photos to my flickr photostream.

Dear Container Store,

Yesterday, I stopped by for some peaceful pre-holiday browsing. At the door, two greeters wished to know how I was doing and offered to help me find something. I smiled and answered that I was just browsing.

I proceeded to your “stocking stuffer” table. There an employee complimented my sweater. I thanked her. She then explained the intricacies of your stocking stuffer table, the purpose of which, apparently, is to group all of your stocking stuffers on tables located throughout the store so I could find them more easily. She offered me a catalog. She explained that each table had different options, and again complimented my sweater. I nodded, and thanked her. She continued to compliment my sweater. It was, she said, a color that also looked nice on her daughter. Yes, I said, and continued upstairs.

There I met another employee. She told me about the stocking stuffer tables. Apparently, all of the stocking stuffers are grouped on said tables, so I can find them more easily. She proffered a catalog. I told her I already had one. She asked if I needed help finding anything. I told her I was just browsing. She told me to let her know if I needed anything. I told her I was just browsing. She told me to enjoy the store.

I looked beneath the table at some items stored there. Another clerk was passing. He said, “Are you looking for the Cap zapper?” I was not. He scooped one up from the table, and handed it to me. I took it from him; then put it back on the table when he had left.

In the next aisle, a gentleman clerk spotted me. I avoided eye contact. He walked over, stood next to me, and began to straighten a perfectly arranged display. I turned away from him. He began to mutter under his breath. “That doesn’t go here. We’ll just put that over there.” I continued to ignore him aggressively. Emboldened, he said, “Say, can I help you find anything?” Without turning toward him, I said no. Thank you. “Has anyone told you about our new holiday line?” he asked. I said yes. He said that if I needed any help, he’d be happy to oblige.

In the next ten minutes, I received three more offers of help. When I picked up an item no larger than my palm, two clerks offered me shopping baskets.

Container Store? Get off my back.

I can find my own damn shelf extender. Tell your clerks to stand down, before I knock one unconscious with a Keepsake Shadow Box.

Thank you.

Sincerely,
Maggie Mason

We attended Senator Kerry’s concession speech inside Faneuil Hall. It’s a relatively small space, so there were masses of people outside pushing to get in. Everyone was upset and eager. It was incongruous, like a very aggressive funeral.

The election left me feeling blindsided and bewildered. I was angry at more than half the nation. But the senator said something that day that I’ve always believed, and that I’ve thought about a lot since. He said:

“America is not only great, but it is good.”

Bryan and I flew home separately, and as my plane flew over all the states between Massachusetts and California, I spent a lot of time looking out at the lights below me. I felt a great tenderness for each family behind each light, and–despite my frustration–I know all of us are doing our best.

I keep hearing that we are a nation divided, and I’ve certainly experienced that in the past few days. What I hope is that we can begin to talk about what we share: a flag, an anthem, a land, and the good fortune that is ours by right of citizenship.

All of us want our children to be safe, and we hope each generation will have a happier future than the last. All of us want peace, and security, and time to spend with the people we love.

When we have the freedom to say whatever we want, it is no surprise that we disagree with one another. What is remarkable is that we agree on so much. What we have agreed, as a people, is that our union is more important than our opinion.

May our opinions shift, and our nation remain steadfast.

I’ll be the one with icing on my face.